Really Bad Eggs
by Elf Eye
Summary: Another in "The Nameless One" Series. Set after "Disappearances and Reappearances."


**Folks, I have not abandoned "Returning from the Dead," but after slaughtering all those Orcs in the Brothers chapter, I needed a break. So I have written this light-hearted tale of Anomen set back in the days when he was still an elfling. The next chapter of "Returning from the Dead" will appear sometime this weekend. Meanwhile, I hope that you enjoy this little story.**

The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had lately sent a message to Imladris reminding Elrond that he had promised to journey to that land to attend an elven council at which a certain trade agreement would be reviewed and perhaps renegotiated. As the Lord and Lady had not seen their grandchildren in several years, they requested that the young ones of Elrond's household accompany their father to the land of Lórien.

Since Elrond was fostering Anomen, he numbered that elfling amongst his children. He therefore would have gladly taken Anomen with him on this journey. Unfortunately, the trade agreement was a three-way affair that involved Greenwood as well as the other two elven realms. At the very least, Thranduil's Seneschal would attend, and mayhap the King himself.

"You do understand, don't you, ion-nîn, why it would not be wise for you to journey with us to Lothlórien?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond," Anomen replied unhappily. He did understand, but that did not make him feel better as the day drew near for the departure of the elven company. It was a reminder that he was indeed different from the other elflings. He was not Elrond's by birth and never could be. Would he ever truly belong?

Elrond saw his sadness, and the night before his departure, as he sat in his chamber sharing a glass of wine with Glorfindel and Erestor, he asked them to do their best to make Anomen happy during the time that he and the others would be away in Lothlórien.

"Erestor, Anomen has a great love of the natural sciences. Mayhap some of the next few lessons could be held outdoors, in the garden or in the woods, so that you together may examine some of the plants and animals that are described in your books."

Erestor looked dubious. He was certain that an elfling freed from the confines of four walls would be too distracted to learn anything truly useful. Nevertheless, for Elrond's sake, he agreed that some of the lessons would take place outside the Hall.

"I have also noticed," continued Elrond, "that Anomen enjoys the tales of Men. Perhaps, for his lessons in literature, he may read some of those tales.

Erestor was now more scandalized than dubious. Of course, it never did take much to scandalize the tutor.

"Elrond, surely you are not seriously suggesting that such fanciful stories be numbered amongst the usual narratives, which are much more elevating in their effect upon the reader!"

"Erestor, I think that for the time being Anomen has more need of 'entertaining' than 'elevating' narratives."

"But, Elrond—"

"Erestor, one of the benefits of being immortal is that anything Anomen does not read now, he can always read later. He will have plenty of time to read as many elevating narratives as you want him to. For now, let him take pleasure in the tales of Men, as fanciful as they may be."

Erestor subsided, although muttering a little under his breath. Elrond turned to Glorfindel.

"My friend, do you suppose that from time to time you might mention to Anomen that he is making excellent progress?"

"Are you questioning my methods, Elrond?" huffed the balrog-slayer.

"Glorfindel, Anomen is receiving excellent training at your hands, but I believe he needs more than the training alone at this time."

"I am sure he knows that he is skilled both at archery and with the sword."

"He needs to know that _you_ know—and you do not always make that clear!"

"So I am to coddle him?" grumbled Glorfindel.

"I did not say that. Do not tell him that he has done well if he has not, but when he merits your approval, it might be nice if you happened to mention that fact. I do not think that he is in any danger of becoming overconfident!"

At that undeniable assertion, Glorfindel, too, yielded to Elrond's request.

The next day Anomen sadly watched the departure of his foster family. As soon as they had passed through the gate, Erestor beckoned to him.

"Come, Anomen, it is time for your lessons."

Sighing, the elfling fell into step behind his tutor, but to Anomen's surprise, instead of leading his charge into the Hall and from thence to the library, Erestor turned his steps toward the garden.

"Anomen, we Elves pride ourselves upon our keen eyesight, for it is much superior to that of either Men or Dwarves. However, even for an Elf some things are too tiny to be seen. I am going to show you a way of seeing that which is too small to be seen."

This statement sounded confusing to Anomen, but even though he had only arrived relatively recently at Rivendell, he was already accustomed to being thrown into a state of bewilderment by some of Erestor's sententious assertions. He nodded as if he understood, which generally seemed the best thing to do in these cases.

Erestor drew forth a bundle of cloth. He carefully unwrapped it and with a flourish held up a piece of glass concave in shape and attached to a metal handle.

"Look through this glass," he said, holding it a few inches away from a flower petal. Anomen obeyed. He gasped.

"There are very fine scales on the petals. I never saw those before!"

Erestor moved the glass above an ant that was climbing up the flower's stem. Fascinated, Anomen carefully studied the minute features of that insect, features that he had never guessed at.

Erestor was pleased at Anomen's reaction.

"If you will be very careful, you may hold the glass."

"Oh, I will, Lord Erestor! I will!"

Anomen carefully took the handle of this apparently magical object and began to roam about the garden. He examined worms and snails, feathers and twigs, moss and bark—everything and anything. While he did so, Erestor grew sleepy in the warm sun. After awhile, he dozed off. Anomen, meanwhile, continued his circuit throughout the garden, which eventually brought him back to Erestor's side. He sat beside his tutor and held the glass a few inches above Erestor's cloak. How fascinating it was, the pattern of the weaving! Cloth looked so different when each thread was magnified so.

A tiny whiff of smoke arose from the tutor's cloak. Odd, thought Anomen. He peered even more closely at the cloth. Ai! Suddenly the garment was burning! Anomen let out a yell.

"What! What!" yelled a befuddled Erestor. "Are Orcs attacking!"

"Your cloak is on fire!"

Erestor leaped up and began to beat at his cloak. As for Anomen, he ran for the well. He drew up a bucket of water and slipped the pail from the chain. Running back to Erestor, he dashed the water over the unfortunate tutor, putting out the fire but of course soaking Erestor to the bone.

The tutor stood there spluttering. How had he come to be on fire?

"Anomen, what happened?"

"I don't know, Lord Erestor. I was examining your cloak through the glass, when suddenly the garment began to smoke. Next I knew, it was burning!"

Erestor sighed. Of course. Well, he couldn't blame Anomen. He had never told him of that particular property of the glass.

"Well, I had best change my clothes. It is time for lunch anyway. Come, Anomen, let us go back inside the Hall."

After lunch, Anomen started off as usual toward the training fields, but Glorfindel called him back.

"Anomen, the Cook has been talking with longing of the bass in the lake to the north. Would you like to go fishing?"

Fishing? Anomen had never been fishing.

"I suppose so," he said hesitantly.

"Good! We will have a fine time!"

Off went the two with fishing poles and a basket. Before too long, they had arrived at the spot where several boats were drawn up upon the shore, and soon they were paddling out to the center of the lake. Glorfindel showed Anomen how to cast his line, and after several tries he was able to place it with a fair degree of accuracy. They drifted about companionably for awhile. Suddenly Anomen's line bobbed.

"Ah, Anomen, you have a fish on your line."

"Do I!"

In his excitement, Anomen leaned over the edge of the boat, which of course tilted dangerously.

"Careful," warned Glorfindel. He grabbed for the back of Anomen's tunic. Of course, by doing so, Glorfindel was throwing even more weight on that side of the boat. In the proverbial twinkling of an eye, the little vessel overturned, throwing both elfling and balrog-slayer into the water.

Now it was Glorfindel who had reason to splutter as he came up to the surface. It is greatly to his credit that he did not do so—or, at least, he did not do so very much. The balrog-slayer was a well-traveled Elf, and he knew that the Greenwood Elves traded with the Men of Lake-town. But he also knew that, as Anomen was very young, he may never have had an opportunity to visit that place. If so, it was altogether likely that the woodland elfling had never been in a boat before. Well, Glorfindel vowed, now that Anomen was in Imladris, he would make sure that the elfling developed great skill with boats. If Anomen should ever be called upon to handle a boat, Glorfindel wanted to be certain that he would be able to do so with dexterity and grace. Boating lessons would thus be added to the lessons in horseback riding and weapons handling. Having made that resolution, a soggy Glorfindel escorted a dripping elfling back to the Hall.

The next day after breakfast, Erestor once again surprised Anomen.

"Today," the tutor announced, "I am going to read to you from this book of the tales of Men. These are primitive, quaint tales, but they will help you grasp the minds of humans, who are, after all, a Free People with whom we share Arda."

Erestor opened the book, cleared his throat, and began to read a story about a Troll who guarded a bridge, thus preventing certain goats from crossing to a verdant pasture on the other side of a river. As he read, the tutor became more and more absorbed in the story. He began to voice each character, a deep, harsh voice for the Troll, and bleats for the goats, each bleat a little different so that it was easy to tell the goats apart. Anomen listened with delight as at last the youngest and smallest goat outwitted the Troll and butted him off the bridge and into the river. Erestor closed the book. He cleared his throat.

"Now," he declared, reassuming his usual voice, "it is necessary for us to analyze the story—themes, metaphors, syntax, etc."

"Oh, no," begged Anomen. "The story will be ruined if we analyze it. Cannot we just let the story be a story?"

"Let the story be a story! Nonsense! A story must have a moral."

"Oh, but the story will have a moral whether we analyze it or not, so we needn't do so! The story will mean something all on its own without any help from us, isn't that so?"

Erestor stopped, perplexed. If a story _has_ a moral but no one points it out, _does it_ have a moral? Did the moral have to be stated outright for it to exist? The tutor shook his head. He was unused to being bewildered, and he did not like the feeling in the least!

"We-ell," he said slowly, "I suppose if there is a moral in the story it is there whether anyone points it out or not, but—"

"Oh, good!" declared Anomen. "Then all we need to do is read the story, for the moral will take care of itself! And now, if you please, read me another tale," he pleaded.

Nonplussed, Erestor reopened the book and commenced reading Anomen a story about a brother and a sister whose parents were too poor to feed them and so led them into the forest to abandon them. Before too long, the tutor was once again voicing the characters—there was a witch in it, too!—and if there was a moral, Erestor was too wrapped up in the story to care. There may be a lesson here somewhere, but if there is, Reader, you are welcome to disregard it or not as you wish.

Several days passed in this fashion, with both Erestor and Glorfindel taking great pains to fulfill their promise to Elrond. As a result, most of the time Anomen spent his days happily enough. Still, on occasion, when Anomen was with neither Erestor nor Glorfindel, the elfling thought longingly of Lothlórien. Then he would imagine the great fun Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen must have been having. Lonely, he would sigh and walk about with downcast eyes.

It was on one of these occasions that the Head Cook spotted him loitering near the kitchen. Now, Anomen had had a few run-ins with the Head Cook—most notably when the elfling had first arrived in Rivendell and tried to steal food from the kitchen—but the Head Cook, for all his gruffness and his zeal in defending his domain, was truly a kind sort who did not like to see anyone unhappy. He had elflings of his own, and it pained him to see Anomen looking so sad. His own elflings enjoyed 'messing about' in the kitchen, and it occurred to the Head Cook that Anomen might also.

"You over there—Anomen," called the Cook.

Startled, Anomen looked up and prepared to flee, even though he could not remember have filched any food that week.

"No! No! Don't run off. I'm not going to scold you or set you to scrubbing pots. Since you are lingering about the kitchen, I thought you might like to come inside and try your hand at cooking."

The elfling thought this over.

"Ye-es," he said finally. Suddenly he added impulsively, "The Lords Erestor and Glorfindel have been so kind to me these past several days. May I make them something?"

"What about a nice cake?" suggested the Cook.

"Oh, yes," Anomen agreed eagerly. "A cake!"

"It just so happens that I have some ingredients left over from baking cakes, enough for you to mix up batter for a cake of your own. It will only be a little cake, mind you."

"Oh, a little cake would be fine—as long as there is enough for both Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel to each have a piece."

"Well, then, let us go in."

The two went into the kitchen. The cook placed a stool by the large trestle table so that Anomen could reach everything easily, and then he gathered together the ingredients, setting them all to one side, to the right. Next he showed Anomen how to measure each ingredient. As they finished with each one, the Cook was careful to slide its jar or bottle over to the left side of the table. Over the centuries, he had come to rely on this technique as a means of ensuring that he never inadvertently doubled any ingredient.

Anomen had added roughly half the ingredients to the mixing bowl when they were interrupted by one of the apprentices.

"Master, some traders have arrived with some spices, and I think they are asking a price that is far more than the condiments are worth. Will you come and look over their stock?"

"Very well," agreed the Cook. "Do not touch anything," he warned Anomen as he turned to follow the apprentice. The elfling did indeed sit quietly perched upon his stool for some time after the departure of the Cook, but at last the inevitable happened—he grew bored. He began to examine the jars and bottles of ingredients. He picked each up in turn and examined it, looking carefully at the seasonings and smelling the spices. As he put down each vessel, he did not take especial notice of where he had gotten it from. He put some to the left and some to the right, but the used and unused ingredients were soon jumbled.

At length the Cook returned and once again began to supervise the preparation of the cake. After all the ingredients were in the bowl, Anomen beat the batter until the Cook said that it was of the right consistency. Under the eyes of the Cook, Anomen carefully poured the batter into a pan and carried it to an oven. Anxiously he hovered about for the hour that it took for the cake to bake. When the Cook slid it out of the oven, Anomen gave a great sigh of relief. The cake had not fallen, and it was a beautiful golden brown. The Cook sniffed the air.

"Hmm. Smells a trifle spicier than most of my cakes, but then, the cake being so small, perhaps the odors of the seasonings come through more strongly. Well, let us set it aside to cool, and then you yourself may present it to the Lords when they dine this afternoon."

Near the end of that day's noon meal, Anomen briefly slipped out of the dining hall to where the Cook waited, holding the tray upon which sat the cake. Carefully the elfling proudly carried his creation to the head table.

"Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor, I have made you a cake," announced the elfling.

Glorfindel saw that the cake had been divided into four pieces, but Anomen made no move to take any for himself.

"Aren't you going to have a piece of your own cake, Anomen?"

Anomen shook his head. He wanted to be sure that his two mentors each received generous portions. He had therefore made sure that there would be seconds.

"No. This cake was made in your honor. It is for you, and you alone."

The two elf-lords then graciously began to consume Anomen's culinary offering.

Glorfindel had an ample stock of stoicism, one developed from centuries—nay, millenia!—of campaigning under foul conditions. He took a bite of the cake, and his eyes scarcely flickered. He chewed and swallowed that first bite—actually, the swallow did look very much like a gulp—and then he proceeded to methodically work his way through the rest of his portion. When Anomen eagerly asked him how he liked it, he nodded, gesturing to his full mouth to indicate that he was incapable of speech.

When Glorfindel had finished, Anomen asked him if he would like his second piece. Glorfindel shook his head.

"A warrior can only eat so much cake, Anomen, lest he become soft."

"Ah, yes, of course, Glorfindel," replied Anomen, duly impressed by the wisdom of the balrog-slayer.

Erestor, too, was struggling with his cake, but he did not handle matters altogether as smoothly as had Glorfindel. He choked on his first bite and hastily reached for a goblet of wine. He downed almost the entire contents of the glass at one gulp. When he had caught his breath, he opened his mouth to splutter indignantly, but then he saw Anomen looking at him hopefully. Resignedly, he broke off another piece and chewed it with great determination, washing it down with a second goblet of wine. He slowly worked his way through the entire piece in this fashion, and once he had finished, he discovered that he was feeling rather astonishingly cheerful.

"'Nomie," he hiccoughed, "didja know I wuz once captured by th'Corsairs of Umbar?"

"Oooh, the Corsairs of Umbar," breathed Anomen, impressed.

"Yep, yep, an' vile an' dissolute creatures they wuz. A-bom-in-able singin' voices, too. Those Men wuz defin'ly not eunchs, um, unchs, ah, eunuchs. Dre'ful song they kep' chantin', jus' dre'ful."

To everyone's amazement, Erestor began to sing the Corsairs' anthem.

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot,_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho._

_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot, _

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. _

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. _

_We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack,_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho._

_Maraud and embezzle and even high-jack,_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho._

When Erestor started in on the second stanza, Glorfindel thought it was time to intervene.

"Erestor."

**…**_We kindle and char, inflame and ignite_**…**

"Um, Erestor."

**…**_We burn up the city, we're really a fright_**…**

"Really, Erestor, I don't think—"

**…**_We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves_**…**

"Erestor, I must insist—"

**…**_We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs_**…**

At the phrase "really bad eggs," Erestor faltered. A most curious expression came over his face, and he suddenly leaped from his seat and dashed from the dining hall, nearly knocking over a servant as he made for the nearest garderobe.

Perplexed, Anomen looked after him, and then turned his bewildered gaze upon Glorfindel.

"Can't hold his liquor, that one," the balrog-slayer said with aplomb. "Sad, really."

The elf-lord arose.

"And now, Anomen, it is time for your weapons training.

In truth, it was a bit early, but Glorfindel felt a sudden need for fresh air.

Later that day, Glorfindel went to have a word with the Head Cook.

"Master Cook, did you perhaps leave Anomen alone in the kitchen for a spell today?"

"Why, yes, I did. I was called away upon an errand."

"Ah, I see. Do you plan to permit Anomen to assist you in the preparation of any more delicacies?"

"Well, as he seemed to enjoy himself so much today, yes, I thought I would."

Glorfindel flinched.

"May I offer you a suggestion, Master Cook?"

The Head Cook looked wary. The kitchen was his domain, and it was his prerogative to rule it as he saw fit. On the other hand, this _was _the balrog-slayer speaking.

"Ye-es, my Lord?" the Cook said cautiously.

"Under no circumstances should you let Anomen out of your sight whilst he is in the kitchen!"

"I do not understand."

"I gather that you yourself did not sample's Anomen's creation."

"No, my Lord. It was a very small cake meant only for you and the Lord Erestor."

Glorfindel had slipped a fragment of cake into his waist pouch. Now he drew it forth and handed it to the Cook. As that worthy nibbled upon it, a look of horror passed over his face.

"My Lord! I had no idea, I assure you!"

"Oh, I believe you," Glorfindel said. "I suspect that Anomen also had no idea that he had created a most unusual cake. He had a look of utmost innocence upon his face. Of course," Glorfindel added thoughtfully, "with Anomen that does not necessarily count for much."

"Be that as it may," the balrog-slayer continued. "It is likely that in your absence the elfling trifled innocently with the ingredients. Were you gone long?"

"A little less than an hour!"

"Ah, more than enough time for Anomen to get into mischief. Indeed, even a few minutes would have sufficed!"

The Cook sighed.

"This," he said gloomily, "is what comes of trying to be nice to elflings. Even when they are trying to behave they cause trouble."

"_You_ were once an elfling. Did you never spoil the soup?"

The Cook thought a minute, and then a smile slowly spread across his face.

"There was that one time," he laughed, "when I was 'helping' my father in the kitchen. He had been waxing eloquent upon the beauty of salt, how marvelous it was that so tiny a crystal could have such a powerful effect and make palatable food that would otherwise be too bland. It was a day when the Lord Elrond was hosting a great council of elven lords. Ada left me alone for a time whilst he went to fetch some spices from the storeroom. In his absence, I added generous handfuls of salt to each and every dish—from the soups to the sauces to the puddings! When I was older and my father at last spoke of the matter, he told me that an entire year's supply of Dorwinion wine was consumed that night and that Elves were stumbling about for days afterward in the most amazing fashion. He also told me that the council concluded quite rapidly and that the treaty under discussion was drawn up with terms very favorable to Imladris!"

Glorfindel smiled. He remembered that council. Indeed, he had been one of the Elves who had been stumbling about for several days after that most memorable of feasts. What a line there had been for the garderobe! Ai! He didn't want to think of _that_!

"I think you did well in permitting Anomen into the kitchen. Lord Elrond would approve, I am sure. Simply remember that, as you yourself once demonstrated, elflings are very, ah, creative, and will cause trouble even when they do not intend to."

"Yes, my Lord. I will certainly keep that in mind. If I leave the kitchen, I will be sure to instruct one of the apprentices to keep an eye on the little fellow."

"That would be good. Mayhap it would be even better if he had something to do in your absence. Set him to stirring something, even if nothing really needs to be stirred. You know what is said of 'idle hands'."

"Aye, aye! 'Idle hands are the Dark Lord's playthings!"

"Indeed."

With that, the balrog-slayer turned to leave the kitchen, but then he paused.

"Oh, Master Cook, one more thing."

"Yes, my Lord."

"May I, ah, may I have, ah, somewhat to eat?"

The Cook looked gravely at the balrog-slayer.

"You are asking for a snack?"

"If it would be permitted," said Glorfindel humbly. "I have lately misplaced my supper, and now I feel ravenous."

The Cook blanched.

"Oh, by all means, my Lord. Some cheese? Some fruit? Bread? Mayhap a little bit of cold meat?"

"I think just a slice of bread and some fruit." Once the Cook had begun to list foods, Glorfindel realized that he was not quite as ravenous he had thought. A few bites of light food would suffice, he believed.

Food in hand, he left the kitchen, only to encounter Anomen, who looked at him accusingly. Why was _he_ not permitted to snack between meals? Grown-ups never followed their own rules!

Glorfindel sighed. He was going to be very glad when Elrond returned.

A fortnight later, Glorfindel got his wish. An elven company rode through the gates of Rivendell, Elrond at his head.

"Mae govannen, Elrond! You had a good journey, I trust?"

"Excellent. We were not troubled by so much as a Troll."

Elrond looked about as he dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a servant.

"Where is Anomen?"

"In the kitchen, I think."

"In the kitchen? He has drawn skivvy duty for some offense? What has he done—stolen some tarts?"

"More likely he is making tarts. The Master has lately been allowing Anomen to try his hand at cooking."

"Indeed! I never thought that the Cook would proffer his tutelage to any of my sons!"

"I believe Anomen was moping about looking gloomy, so the Cook took pity upon him."

"Ah, yes. No doubt the Cook fell victim to Anomen's wistful blue eyes. Useful features, those. Someday he will be a great hit with the elf-maidens."

"Oh, I think he is already a hit with at least one." Glorfindel had noticed how Celaimîr, the Armorer's daughter, had been gazing at the lad whenever their paths crossed at the armory. Fortunately, Anomen seemed to be oblivious to her interest. Time enough for that in the centuries to come!

Elrond continued. "I have brought Anomen a surprise."

"Indeed?"

Elrond gestured to a hooded figure behind him who wore a cloak of a design woven only by Lothlórien Elves. This garment was fastened at the neck with the distinctive leaf brooch of that golden land. The stranger drew back the hood.

"My Lady Galadriel," exclaimed Glorfindel. "This is both an honor and a pleasure."

Galadriel smiled. "Ah, Glorfindel the balrog-slayer," she teased. "Had your sword failed that day, I am sure you could have defeated your foe by the skillful wielding of words. But, Elrond," she said, turning to that lord, "you lured me away from my realm by promising that I would see the elfling who could not accompany you. Where is the young one who remained behind?"

Just then Anomen appeared near the gate. He had heard the horses and had come to investigate. He hung back, however, when he saw the Lady of Lórien.

Elrond beckoned to the reluctant elfling. Shyly he came forward. Galadriel took his face between her hands and kissed his forehead.

"I understand why you did not come to Lothlórien, little one, and so, as you could not journey to me, I have journeyed to you."

Anomen gazed up at her in wonder. Had the Lady of Lothlórien come all this way to see him!

"The gardens of Imladris are beautiful, are they not, Anomen?"

"Oh, yes, my Lady!"

"I have not seen them in several years, and I understand that you know them well. Will you be my guide?"

"Oh, yes!"

Galadriel gravely offered Anomen her hand, and the elfling eagerly led her toward the gardens, his shyness forgotten as he began to enthusiastically describe the wonders of that place.

Hours later, Anomen came to Elrond's chamber to bid him goodnight as he sat as usual sharing an evening glass of wine with Erestor and Glorfindel. Anomen was chattering excitedly about how wonderful Galadriel was.

"We walked in the garden until supper and she asked me so many questions and she seemed so interested in my answers and she said that she had heard wonderful things about my skill with the sword and with the bow and in horseback riding and she said she didn't mind that I had slipped away from her realm without bidding her farewell and she said she thought I had done very well to journey all the way to Imladris on my own and—"

"Anomen!" interrupted Elrond, laughing. "Do take a breath!"

"Oh, Lord Elrond, I want to do something nice for Lady Galadriel."

"I am sure that you will think of something, ion-nîn."

"I know," Anomen declared, "I shall bake her a cake!"

Erestor leaped from his chair with a cry and raced from the room.

"Whatever is the matter with Erestor!" declared Elrond in astonishment.

"Bad eggs," replied Glorfindel. "_Really_ bad eggs."


End file.
